King's Ransom
by animeaddicted4life
Summary: Arren spends far too much time thinking about Ben Finn from the moment they meet, but as the revolution progresses he finds his obsession turning into a friendship and finds himself wanting more. But the straight captain would never look at him that way, right? And what could his strange recurring dreams about things he doesn't remember possibly indicate?
1. The Hole

**Author's note: **Title is a play on the multiple definitions of the word ransom, as in redemption from sin, title is subject to change, however. My first fanfic, no beta but i don't think there are too many mistakes. **Eventually m/m romance if you don't like it, don't read it and certainly don't whine about it.** Constructive criticism always appreciated . please don't be too mean. Most chapters will have a song accompanying them with lyrics, but the most appropriate one for this was Moon Trance by Lindsey Stirling which unfortunately has no lyrics. I don't own Fable 1, 2 or 3 sadly, all rights and characters to respective owners, etc. Rating subject to change as I update chapters.

_CH. 1_

As long as he lived, Arren would never forget the the day he met Ben Finn. It was seared into his memory just as soundly as his last day at the castle before he left, and his last words to his brother before he did so. Partly because that was the day it really occurred to him just what he was attempting to do, and partly because of the man himself.

He wasn't entirely sure just when it hit him, but the day he and Walter spent weaving through the blighted Hole beneath the ruined monorail tracks he found himself thinking about his brother. As he and Walter trekked and slew Hobbes in what was predominantly a companionable silence, his mind wandered from the past to his potential futures.

He had been so focused on his ultimate goal of bettering things for his people that it hadn't really clicked in his mind until he really focused on it, that he was going to dethrone a king. His brother. He was going to be once he was, he imagined he would be expected to pass judgment on his brother, among a great many other things. Something about that just didn't sit right with him, especially since Theresa had shown him a vision of his brother the day before, what she termed "the truth."

He thought back to his childhood, to Logan's childhood. His brother wasn't a bad person. That was the hardest part of this whole ordeal. When they were younger they played with the servant's children. Their father, being a man from humble roots had no care for the propriety, or rather lack of, of that. He could recall multiple occasions when Logan gave his toys to the other children and didn't utter a word when he was taken to task for "losing" or breaking them himself. His rather unorthodox youthful rebellion involved giving various decorative valuables to local beggars and one occasion where he let all of the horses out of the stables insisting they should be allowed to roam freely. Memories of his brother's stubborn frown and clenched jaw on these occasions brought a faint smirk to his face even as the stench of Hobbes and putrid water assaulted his senses and burned his eyes.

His reverie halted momentarily as he and Walter approached a cliff parallel to one riddled with Hobbes and old explosives. They dispatched the hobbes quickly. Arren swinging the Moon King's Hammer about with practiced ease. Walter jabbed and swung his trusted blade about with a spry agility belying his outward façade of an aging soldier, all the while commentating their battle.

Some of his compliments had Arren's heart swelling with a pride he would deny to his dying breath, others had him fighting an eye roll. The commentary ended as soon as the last of the Hobbes were downed by an explosion some twenty paces away. Arren sheathed his father's pistol with a twirl and turned to face the old soldier behind him.

"Do you think it's true? What they say about Hobbes, I mean."

"I'm not sure," Walter replied, stroking his beard, "Your father mentioned something about it once, but he refused to speak more of it, just got this far away look in his eye."

After that they walked a bit longer in a relative silence only broken by the sound of dripping water. Arren became once more absorbed in his thoughts, trailing a ways behind Walter, his normally sharp eyes and keen sense unfocused. He startled as the sound of his own voice as words formed from idle thoughts came unbidden from his mouth.

"Do you remember the day Logan got that scar on his lip?" He asked, his tone indicating just how far away his thoughts were. As soon as the words left his mouth unbidden, however, he inwardly cursed himself for his lapse.

"Aye. It was a right scandal, that. You boys never did say what caused that scuffle; what made you hit him."

"Oi! He got me good too, don't make it sound like a one sided fight!" His false outrage came as a desperate attempt to change the topic. He had certainly stepped in it big this time; he really needed to remember not to space off around other people.

He never did find out if his attempt would have come to fruition as he was saved by the bell, as it were, when they battled their way through yet another group of Hobbes in what appeared to be the ruins of an old colosseum. After that they made their way out swiftly, Arren focusing on keeping his mind in the present.

They slogged through the muggy marsh with comparative ease, Walter slightly more grateful to be in the humid swamp than in a dank cave. Arren took deep lungfuls of the warm air, taking in the more pleasant scents of damp earth and forest growth.

He found a more advanced pistol in a rotting chest as they rounded the gully to see what appeared to be a rather dilapidated ruin of a fort. In fact, the only thing that gave it away as a fort at all was the soldier standing in the open archway above the gate and the battered flags to either side of him.

Arren followed his mentor into the fort with some trepidation at seeing his brother's soldiers within. His apprehension quickly melted away, however, upon seeing the interaction between Walter and the man he referred to as Major Swift. He stood silently beside Walter watching the exchange and looking over the men in front of them, especially the rough young soldier nearest him.

His first thought when the blond spoke was how much his voice reminded him of the smooth yet rough sound of river rocks scraping together. His second thought followed quickly on the heels of the first as the man finished speaking. I'd certainly like to proposition you. Some part of his mind whispered. He very nearly tripped over his own feet as the words almost left his mouth. He hadn't even realized he was moving until then. He could've kicked himself just then. At least his second wayward thought of the day remained safely contained within his head. His word before thought process has reasserted itself with a vengeance since he had left the castle. As it was he simply dug his jagged nails into his palms and focused on the conversation as they came to a stop.

He blushed faintly when Walter told them just who he was so nonchalantly, but sighed internally with relief when neither of them visibly reacted to the news or seemed fazed by it. He nodded to Walter and Swift when he was dismissed. He did as he was bid and briefly spoke with and observed each of the soldiers in the fleet. He wondered in passing at the limited number of soldiers in the rag-tag section of the brigade and why there were only seventeen soldiers there, and that was generously counting the three fresh graves to one side of the fort.

He cringed to think of what his brother expected of this situation. He shook his head to banish the thought and made his way up the stairs Ben had disappeared up to the mortar, idly wondering when he had picked up the man's name while lost in his thoughts.

What followed, or rather intersected, his practice with the mortar was something he would later term a night in hell. Between Private Jammy's practiced loading and Ben's encouragement behind him they wiped out dozens upon dozens of hollow men but the hordes kept coming. When they finally stopped appearing he thought for a moment that it was over, at least until Major Swift began shouting below them.

Arren vaulted from the wall quickly, leaving Ben and Jammy to follow. He was in full adrenaline fueled battle mode by the time he sprinted to the front line and pulled his massive crystal hammer from his back. He flexed his fingers around the handle and shifted his stance, poised to swing and sling the spell he could feel itching to escape his icy and tingling fingertips. When the gate finally broke, sending the soldiers holding it shut to the ground as the wisps hit the earth, Arren flew into a well practiced dance of turns and swings.

He dispatched dozens of hollow men, switching between hammer and pistol with expert ease. He kept his body between the bulk of their enemies and the foot soldiers fighting alongside him, sticking especially close to the private he had thought he'd heard referred to as Lips, who was unwisely fighting with the lute he had been playing. Arren wasn't certain if it was because he lacked a proper weapon or if there was some reason behind it, but he didn't have time to ponder it just then.

He picked off the handful of hollow men straggling at the front of the fort and turned about in a mighty swing just in time to draw his pistol and get a head-shot in on a hollow man poised to deliver a likely fatal blow to the back of Captain Finn's head. The soldier had not noticed it creep up behind him as he picked undead off from the small group battling Swift, Walter and several soldiers in the back corner.

Ben froze for a moment and looked to the ground at his heels with a sudden dread he had not felt previously. Upon seeing the pile of bones that had been a hollow man still settling after they fell, he turned to stare at Arren for what seemed like a long moment as their eyes met across the courtyard.

It was Arren who broke the contact, much to his own remorse. Grinning like a maniac at the wide-eyed Ben as he turned back to the battle waging around threw a spell at a wayward hollow man fighting Trevor in the front corner as he turned only to come face to face with the skeletal face and glowing eye sockets of a hollow man. Before he could even blink he heard a whistle just inches from his ear and the hollow man's raised blade clattered to the ground as it fell to pieces. He blinked several times and smirked at the tell-tale whooping of the young captain behind him.

He frowned briefly when he realized only two of the soldiers he had been fighting with were still at the front end of the fort. The other three had moved off into a group by the steps. He quickly became too preoccupied to worry about them much, however, as he, Grove and Trevor faced off another wave of undead. After only minutes of chaos the battle ended abruptly as Arren whipped out his pistol and shot the last two hollow men Gould was fighting off by the steps.

A chorus of whoops and hollers and victory shouts rang out but was quickly silenced when one last wisp planted itself in the center mound in the row of graves. Everyone else had gathered by the stairs and were mostly breathless and exhausted from the previous battle. Arren stood alone by the gate and smiled at Major Swift and Ben's comments as the deceased lieutenant's corpse rose from the ground. It summoned more wisps as it charged him and Arren was grateful for his uninhibited sword arm as he casted a powerful electrified ice storm about him as a shield and swung at the large hollow man with a twist and a flourish tossing his great hammer straight up. He obliterated more powerful hollow men in great sweeps as the Simmon's wisp disappeared and popped up again. The battle was over in only minutes as the soldiers looked on stunned and frozen in shock and exhaustion alike.

The memorial for the fallen soldiers that followed was a rather short and somber affair. Grove and Gould were clearly fighting tears as the others laid Tick's body in the row. Arren fought back a sense of guilt that thrummed through him as they laid out the bodies of Digger and Lips who he had tried to protect. Someone handed him the young soldier's lute, likely expecting him to set it on the table he was standing nearest to, but he held on to it.

He and Walter decided to stay through what remained of the night and rest before continuing through the treacherous woods. Arren readily agreed, glad to see Walter so happy catching up with his old friend, and thrilled at the prospect of getting a chance to get to better know Captain Ben Finn.


	2. Insurgence Before Introductions

**Author's note:** Song for this chapter is "Ends of the Earth" by Lord Huron, and since the lyrics are used in the story it is probably unnecessary to put them up, but I will anyhow. I now have an awesome beta, so chapters should be alright from here on out. This chapter is a bit short, I will endeavor to make them a bit longer from here on out. Constructive criticism always appreciated, please don't be too mean. I don't own Fable 1, 2 or 3 sadly, all rights and characters to respective owners, etc. Rating subject to change as I update chapters.

Oh, there's a river that winds on forever  
>I'm gonna see where it leads<br>Oh, there's a mountain that no man has mounted  
>I'm gonna stand on the peak<p>

Out there's a land that time don't command  
>Wanna be the first to arrive<br>No time for ponderin' why I'm-a wanderin'  
>On while we're both still alive<p>

To the ends of the earth, would you follow me  
>There's a world that was meant for us to see<br>To the ends of the earth, would you follow me  
>If you won't I will say my goodbyes to thee<p>

Oh, there's an island where all things are silent  
>I'm gonna whistle a tune<br>Oh, there's a desert that size can't be measured  
>I'm gonna count all the dunes<p>

_Ch. 2_

Arren volunteered for first watch even though it was likely an unnecessary precaution. He mostly just needed to get away from the group of both celebratory and mourning soldiers about the fire. He wasn't sure if it was luck, chance or for the same reason as him that Captain Finn decided to join him by the big crate opposite the steps on the upper walkway.

He was playing the lute that had been handed to him earlier and singing almost silently to himself with his eyes shut when the soldier approached. He didn't even notice him until he sat down.

"Oh there's a river that winds on forever, I'm gonna see where it leads. Oh there's a mountain, that no man has mounted, I'm gonna stand on the peak. Out there's a land that time don't command, wanna be the first to arrive. No time for ponderin' why I'm a'wanderin' on while-" He stopped abruptly when he noticed the soldier sitting against the wall in a posture very similar to his, with his knees bent and his arms resting across them. He hit the strings on the lute to quiet them, the notes of the somber sounding song still ringing in his ears, independent of the words that accompanied them.

He looked over the quiet and contemplative soldier for a minute before looking back to his own hands still in place on the lute. He set the instrument off to the side, leaning it against the wall that ran next to him. "It seems we are victorious." Arren finally said in an attempt to alleviate the silence that seemed rather tense to him. Ben finally looked up from his hands then, shaking his head to banish his lingering thoughts of the lost soldiers. He gave a half-hearted grin and shrugged.

"It would seem so. Bloody wonderful to finally be able to leave this place." His tone was full of tense relief, yet he seemed more engaged when he changed the subject. "You play well," he grinned then, "sing pretty decent too I imagine, when you aren't mumbling."

Ben's voice came out suave and cajoling, but sincere. Arren knew a verbal test of character when he heard one. He certainly heard them issued often enough by anyone worth talking to. Arren fought a grimace at Ben's subtle caution and cursed his title for the umpteenth time in his life. He managed to reign himself in and manage a smile and, against his will, a faint blush he prayed Ben couldn't see in the dark painted his face at the man's words.

"Practice makes perfect, so they say," he held out a hand for Ben to shake, "Arren Silver." Ben returned the handshake with a firm and calloused grip that spoke of years of hard work.

"Benjamin Finn."

Their brief contact broke and Arren's skin tingled in a way that had nothing to do with the will energy he fought to keep from visibly crackling.

"You left out the Captain bit." His grin made it clear to a now more relaxed Ben that he was good-naturedly jesting.

"And you left out the Prince bit." Arren shrugged at Ben's smirk.

"I prefer it when people don't know who I am. I can be just another bloke passing by on the street. I rather like the anonymity. It's nice to be able to walk about freely without people hassling me or going out of their way."

"Well I can't imagine most people take you for a royalty dressed as a renegade," he gestured to Arren's black and red mercenary jacket and highwayman trousers with an amused look.

"Hey, I happen to like this jacket. Keeps my sword arm free. And I did initially wear it with the intent of being mistaken for a mercenary. Say, that reminds me...Hey Walter," he shouted down to the fire across the fort below them, "what ever did you do with that mercenary you took this jacket from?" Walter looked up at him from his conversation with Swift and chuckled.

"You know me, boy, I'm not one to kick a man when he's down." Walter may have grinned then but from such a distance it was hard to tell. "I hog-tied him and left him by the guard post at shift switch."

The mental image of the mostly naked and drunk unconscious Jimmy hog-tied by the guard post in Brightwall had Arren near tears with laughter and Ben chuckling beside him. After he reigned his laughter in, he then had to explain his covert entry into the bandit camp and his battle with Saker and once more pushed the troublesome thoughts the recollection brought up to the back of his mind.

"That was rather merciful of you," Ben stated once he'd finished his tale, "to spare Saker's life as you did."

"Indeed. So I've heard." He ground his teeth together and grumbled the last bit. "Sometimes I wish I hadn't. Any who prey on those weaker than them, taking what little they have from them, including their lives, doesn't deserve to live." He almost regretted admitting that thought aloud, but it was almost a relief to have the words out after biting his tongue every time someone mentioned it. Yet Ben looked somewhat less shocked by his outburst then he would've expected. In fact, he looked rather sympathetic.

"I met Saker once. When he was still in the military. He was a good soldier once." At Arren's raised brow he elaborated. "Not in a conventional sense of course: following orders to the letter, being responsible and projecting a good image. He led his men with passion, strength and integrity that was impressive to say the least." Ben's voice held the faintest note of awe in it and realizing this he cleared his throat and continued in a casual tone. "Of course I was just a greenie at the time, that was a couple of years ago. But anyway, I suppose that's why so many followed when he left, and still do I guess."

Arren leaned back against the crate behind him and crossed his arms. He nodded at Ben's words in understanding. "I suppose I don't really know how many of those things he has done, himself, but the men who follow him are certainly less than savory." He looked down over the camp below them sparsely littered with supplies and soldiers. "How long have you guys been posted here?"

"Two months now? Give or take a week. Not much difference between day and night here. How long you been at the whole...revolution thing?"

"Two weeks now? Give or take a day or two. Time kind of runs together when you're running about day and night." They shared an amused look as Arren stood to do a perimeter check and an easy relaxed banter fell back into place as they walked towards the mortar.

He woke slightly disoriented, having rather quickly gotten accustomed to spending most of his nights in his little cottage in Brightwall. He was leaning rather uncomfortably against the wall along the steps in a slouched position.

His last recollection was of sharing several..several celebratory drinks with the soldiers after his shift on watch. Who, it seemed had managed to make it back to their bedrolls. Well, all the soldiers except Ben. Who it seemed had not overindulged himself and was sitting in the opposite corner with Swift and Walter.

Arren fought a groan as he sat upright and rubbed his eyes with one hand, reaching for his hammer resting against the wall next to him with the other. He got to his feet rather gracefully considering how much his head throbbed. He stretched his stiff shoulders and back with a grunt and slung his weapon over his shoulder. He made his way over to where the conscious soldiers sat. Walter looked up at him as he approached and chuckled.

"Sleep well?" Arren smacked him on the arm as he passed and sat across the fire from him on a vacant crate. Ben, who sat next to him on a barrel, passed him a tin cup with what smelled like coffee in it. Arren smiled gratefully.

Arren listened to Ben, Swift and Walter trade banter for a while, just listening and sipping at his drink, willing his headache to abate. The other soldiers were roused some time later by Ben. He and Walter left soon after they had all woken.

They parted with Ben and Major Swift at the back gate. Arren shook hands with Ben as he and Walter departed. "See you soon, I suspect." Ben nodded and stepped back.

Arren waved to the soldiers still inside the fort and Walter said his goodbyes to Swift and Ben. They turned their backs to the Mourningwood fort, but Arren had a feeling he would be seeing them soon.


	3. Introspection and Strife

**Authors note: **This chapter is a bit longer, more of a character development chapter than anything else. The song is almost painfully perfect, however, "Sleepsong" by Bastille. Also my beta is suuper busy so I will likely be self editing from here on out, so let me know it you see any major issues. Constructive criticism always welcomed. The next chapter is longer, I promise. More of Arren being gloriously socially awkward. I don't own Fable, etc, etc.

Oh, in the strangest dreams, walking by your side  
>It is the hole you impose upon your life<br>When you're out, loneliness, it crawls up in the ground  
>It's what you feel, but can't articulate out loud.<p>

Oh you go to sleep on your own and you wake each day with your thoughts  
>And it scares you being alone<br>It's a last resort

All you want is someone onto whom you can cling  
>Your mother warned of strangers and the dangers they may bring<br>Your dreams and memories are blurring into one  
>The scenes which hold the waking world slowly come undone<p>

You'll come undone

_CH.3_

Arren thought about that night at Mourningwood fort over the next few days for many reasons. While he went back to spending his nights in his quiet cottage in Brightwall, he often laid awake for hours thinking about Ben and the young soldiers who had died. It was his first real study in mortality, as it were, or so he had morbidly referred to it in his head. It didn't shock him as much as he thought it would, but he did wonder how men like Swift and Ben dealt with it so frequently: seeing people alive and healthy, cracking jokes and exchanging banter one minute and cold and lifeless the next.

Thoughts of death, however, were somewhat more mundane than recollections of what he'd said about Saker, or rather what he hadn't mentioned. Recollections of that battle almost overlaid with visions from half-remembered dreams. What he did recall from those dreams, he recalled with vivid clarity.

_One minute he is fighting off one of Saker's thugs, listening to the jeering and shouting above him. The next minute the jeering is closer and he is surrounded by a ring of bandits in a clearing. The next moment he is taking a swing at Saker with his scaled blade, keeping his footing as the ground seemed to shake under the force of the mercenary leader's boots. In an instant he is someone else, swinging a massive two-handed blade at a beast of a man with his blades thrust into the ground._

The last thing he sees before waking is always the same. A flickering overlay of Saker kneeling before him and the massive man from before doing the same. He is not sure why, but these dreams give him a cold uneasy feeling no nightmare has ever quite done.

Aside from thoughts of his dreams, he recalled his long talk with Ben with fondness. What he could recall of it, anyhow. He tossed in his bed and thought long and hard about the later part of that night.

He recalled talking to Ben for over an hour on watch. Then they traded off and sat by the fire with the other soldiers. He furrowed his brow and concentrated, but try as he might, he couldn't recall much past his sixth or seventh drink except laughter and more drinking. He rarely overindulged himself like that, but he had needed it then and so had the soldiers of Swift Fleet. He shuddered to think what he may have said while drunk if someone had engaged him directly in the conversation, but with the lack of strange looks or comments the following morning he put it out of his mind and went to sleep.

The following day he ran into an old friend in the most unconventional of places. He was surprised and happy to see Elise, despite the gnawing guilt her presence brought to mind. He was glad to see her moved on and happy and not hopelessly pining over him like a lovesick young girl. Though he supposed at that point he couldn't exactly throw stones, he was well aware of the irony in that thought. It was only hours after that, in fact, that he was reaquainted with the object of his own admiration.

While trekking through Mourningwood once more, several days prior, to deal with two idiot ghosts his father had also had the misfortune of dealing with, he came upon the now-abandoned fort. Upon entering it once more he had stumbled upon another page of Ben's manuscript, which had evidently been left behind when the soldiers left. It was through similar instances of happenstance that he eventually accumulated several more pages, having already found one at the rebel headquarters.

Arren spent most of the next day doing odd jobs in Driftwood. He borrowed a small boat and spent the morning sitting on the water reading Ben's manuscript. He smiled, laughed, frowned and experienced an unreasonable amount of jealousy towards nameless faceless people as he read the rather impersonal summary of the man's life. He felt his admiration for the man grow and his obsession to know more about him intensify. He reached the end of the fifth page before frowning once more as he realized he was yet missing a page and with a sigh he returned to shore.

He watched the sun set on the water from outside his cabin, feeling a sense of calm contentedness he had not felt in a long while. His feeling of peace only lasted as long as he managed to keep his thoughts at bay and just enjoy his surroundings, however.

While he listened to the birds chirping in the trees and the creaking of the boats moored to the docks, thoughts of his brother, his dwindling family and the people of Albion plagued him. While he tried to focus on the children's laughter and the gentle lapping of water on sand, all he could hear in his head was the rapid fire of rifles, sounds of battle and the voices of his father and Walter and Logan in his head. The faces of people he had helped, and people he had killed swam through his mind, swirling the shades of pink and orange that danced on the water.

He rubbed his temple and groaned, cursing that these thoughts had to claw at him now. He spent so much time pondering so many things and just ended up chasing his thoughts around in circles until they drove him mad.

He supposed it would have been helpful to talk to someone, but all he had now was Walter, and what would Walter have to say about his thoughts? Maybe something overly encouraging and none too helpful, or something far too reasonable. Sometimes Walter could be so frustratingly reasonable.

What would Walter say if he told him that he had no real clue what he was doing leading a revolution? _"That's just nerves, boy, you'll get over it in time."_ Or something more serious, like:_ "Albion needs you, Arren. The people need you. There's no sense in asking questions that can't be answered until this is over with."_

What would he think if he knew Arren didn't want to be king, that he didn't have it in him to be one for so many reasons? What would he think of Arren if he confided that the only real thing motivating him when he woke up every morning was his ultimate goal of helping his people, and that he really couldn't bring himself to care enough about anything else in the world to even get out of bed?

Well, he supposed there was one other thing that motivated him enough to get out of bed. A person with blond hair, a cocky attitude and an infectious grin. That person had been the primary motivator in getting him up today, he recollected with a smile. And-and it was already dark out.

He blinked rapidly and looked around in confusion. He had been lost in his thoughts longer than he had anticipated. The lights that hung on the bridges had been lit for some time and only a handful of people could be seen walking about. He looked up, estimating it to be around six o'clock judging by how early the sun set this late in the year, but he was still running late.

Returning to the rebel headquarters seemed somewhat more momentous the second time around. He felt somehow more involved now that he was allied with an actual revolutionary group, underground, both literally and figuratively, and operating secretly. He flashed back to his previous thoughts about his little revolution as he entered the drains once more.

When he entered the map room Ben was arguing with Page, and pouting rather adorably, Arren thought privately to himself. He couldn't fathom what Page's big issue with the soldiers was. He understood her being rather nervous about them, just as he himself had been at first, but she seemed plenty relaxed around Swift and Walter. He wondered if her issue was just with Ben himself. He shrugged, supposing it was certainly better than having to watch them flirt or something.

His focus drifted to the captain as he spoke with Page and tried valiantly to listen to her words. He caught on easily enough from hearing every other word about her missing men, Reaver, and another clandestine life-threatening escapade, and with a last grumble at Ben, Page dismissed them. He winced at Ben's off-color offer to guard the room as she changed, rethinking his earlier stance on their back-and-fourth.

Arren took the costume Page had given him back to the commons room which was vacant for the evening to change. He was slightly put-out that he would not get the opportunity to spend more time with Ben on this mission. He was also apprehensive about entering a potentially dangerous situation with someone he had never seen fight before at his back, but he supposed he could handle anything that was thrown at them and protect Page.

"Nice ink." Arren winced at the voice behind him and set his folded highwayman shirt on the table before him. He kept himself composed as he turned towards the smooth voice he recalled all too clearly.

"Didn't your momma ever tell you it's not polite to stare?" He sounded far more confident than he felt as he looked at Ben and leaned back against the table, putting his swirling dweller arm tattoo on display along with the royal one on his chest. The wood slid against his calloused palms as he attempted to look casual standing in nothing but his steel boots and pants that, despite the belt, hung precariously low on his hips

"Didn't yours ever teach you to accept a compliment graciously?" Ben's words brought a smile to Arren's face even as they made his stomach knot a little.

"Hmm, well I don't generally make it a habit to be polite to peeping toms, but I guess since you asked so nicely…"

"Haha. I actually came to ask you-" Arren cut him off.

"Sorry, no can do. Strict orders from the boss lady about not allowing any strapping blond captains to tag along." He cursed himself for his flirting tone but he felt he managed to play it off as humor.

"Well, that seems oddly specific, doesn't it?" Ben looked mockingly thoughtful as he placed his hand on his chin before returning to a more serious topic. "No, I actually came to ask if you wanted to get a drink when you guys get back tonight." Arren's heart skipped a beat before his logical mind could think through the reality of the offer. "Walter, a few soldiers and I were going to head to the Crown for a bit since Swift is off again and Page makes us soldiers a little uneasy. Figured you could join us and we can celebrate your impending victory tonight."

"Sure." He wasn't sure whether to be disappointed or relieved that he wouldn't be left drinking alone with Ben.

"Alright. Have fun on your date with Page, then." Ben winked and let himself out. Arren's groan was cut off by the clanking of the heavy door as it shut.

As it turned out, their little outing wasn't exactly what he would have deemed successful. While they managed to fight their way through dozens upon dozens of hobbes, hollow men, thugs, balverines, and sand furies, they were only in time to save Kidd. And despite logic telling him otherwise, Arren couldn't help but feel they had failed the others they were too late to save.

"How can you put so much trust in your brother's soldiers?" Page asked suddenly out of nowhere as the three of them made their way back towards Bowerstone. Arren kept a vigilant eye on the road ahead of them as he responded.

"I was skeptical too, but I saw the position they were in at the fort. Trust me, they weren't there because they were following my brother's orders without question. They lost some good men there and would have lost more. Besides, Walter trusts them, and if nothing else that'd be enough for me." Page looked away pensively.

"I suppose that's true, but I still don't like most soldiers on principle. Especially that big-mouthed captain. You on the other hand, have earned my trust."

Arren grinned childishly at Page's scowl. Kidd meanwhile, trailed silently behind them. He may or may not have been listening, Arren couldn't tell, but it was likely he was caught up reflecting on whatever had happened before Arren and Page had arrived. Arren attempted to alleviate some of the discomfort the long silence caused by striking up a conversation once more.

"He wasn't lying, you know, Ben. Well, it may have been two hollowmen, but it's hard to say. There were bone shards and wisps flying everywhere, it was kind of hard to keep track. I suppose I can understand your skepticism more now though, now that I know you doubted their existence till just now."

And just like that Arren's attempt to alleviate the tension in the air backfired thoroughly as he stuck his foot down his throat as he was occasionally wont to do. Bringing up their twisted little go 'round in the wheel of misfortune arena was definitely not the way to go. While he had felt little personal fear for his own life, he had been full of just as much determination to protect Kidd and Page as Page was likely filled with fear. While he inwardly berated himself, he figured that while he had his foot in it he may as well go for broke.

"Thanks for the save back there, by the way, it was a nice shot."

"You did far more than I did, but you're welcome." No one else said another word as they walked back through the empty market.

He panicked a little bit more than he would have liked, and spent more time than he would ever admit debating on what to wear to the meet up with Ben and Walter. Despite knowing (and ruefully accepting) that Ben would never look at him the same way he looked at Ben when Ben wasn't looking, he couldn't fight the impulse to look his best. And after much frustration, he set all girlish notions aside and ended up entering The Cock In The Crown at half past nine in a military jacket and gloves with his usual blood spattered pants, steel boots and a disinterested look that belied the anticipation twisting his stomach in knots.


	4. The Tavern

**Author's Note: **Trying to keep things in character, though in all sad reality there really isn't a whole lot of cannon Ben to work with, but I am trying. Lots of dialogue this chapter, more of Arren being a social reject. No song for this chapter, I am getting lazy and no song really jumped out with this one. Constructive criticism and comments always welcome. I don't own any Fable or any associated characters, etc, etc.

He found Walter, Ben and a couple of other soldiers he vaguely recognized sitting in the otherwise empty tavern. Walter and the other soldiers were animatedly engaged in conversation and Ben appeared to be listening from across the table, amused.

While his back was turned mostly towards the door, Ben spotted him with unnerving vigilance from the corner of his eye and waved. Arren gave Ben a once over he hoped wasn't noticeably lingering as he crossed the room before quickly turning his gaze to Walter and the soldiers as he sat in the vacant chair next to Ben. It took a long moment of continued debate between the two younger men over the affections of some old mutual acquaintance before any of them even noticed Arren was there.

"Ari! There you are. I was beginning to think you weren't coming." Arren chuckled at the faintly slurred exuberant words, glad to see Walter finally relaxing a little since they took their leave of the castle.

"I could've been an assassin for all you'd notice. Good thing for you Ben here is at least keeping his wits about him, or you'd've been in trouble." Walter pointed at him with his mug accusingly.

"I noticed you the moment you sat down, I was just too busy explaining what's what to these two lads," he gestured to the other two men who protested and took up their friendly argument once more. Ben, who sat with his mug in hand, leaned over to whisper conspiratorially to Arren.

"They've been in their cups for hours already. It's a wonder they can even sit up straight, let alone carry on a conversation." Arren fought a smile and leaned in to whisper back.

"Walter could probably down a keg and then take down a troll."

Ben nodded his assent and downed the last of his drink. Arren's eyes wandered from Ben's calloused dextrous fingers wrapped around the handle of his mug to his stubble covered jaw and strong neck as he drank. He jerked out of his trance only when Ben set his mug down and stood, gesturing to the bar, likely attempting to escape the raucous debate across the table. Arren followed him and took up the stool at the end next to Ben.

"Sorry to hear about tonight, word got around pretty quick." Ben gestured back to the two soldiers with Walter as they waited for their drinks. Arren shrugged.

"It wasn't too bad. Nothing I haven't dealt with before, really. Page was pretty shocked though." He belatedly realized how arrogant that made him sound, but he supposed arrogant was preferable to entirely apathetic or suicidal.

"I suppose it is kind of odd how sheltered most people are, living their whole lives protected in the city."

"She didn't believe in hollow men." Ben spluttered as he took a sip from the mug that had just been handed to him. "I told her I supposed it was a good excuse for her skepticism about your bragging earlier." Ben looked as if he couldn't decide whether to laugh or scoff at that.

"Still, you managed to bring Kidd back, that's something at least." Ben raised his mug and Arren gave a half-hearted toast. A long silence ensued wherein another round of drinks was ordered as they continued to sit at the bar.

Arren looked back over at the table to see the two other soldiers still talking, completely absorbed in their discussion. "All the things going on right now and they choose to bicker over old conquests."

"It is an age old keystone of male bonding." Ben made the statement with all seriousness and Arren began to think he may regret having brought the subject up.

"I suppose we all have our priorities."

"Aw, c'mon Arren. You must've rehashed a conquest or two at some point." And with that Arren's sense of foreboding was fulfilled. He didn't want to lie to Ben, and he didn't figure any response he could come up with would keep the inquisitive soldier from prodding at this point, except maybe one.

"No, in fact, I haven't."

"Well that won't do, come on then, let's hear one." Ben was just drunk enough to be carefree and pushy with his words, but not nearly drunk enough to forget any of what Arren said. A long pause followed and the smirk gradually slipped from Ben's face as Arren stared into his mug trying to come up with a safe response. "Don't tell me you-"

"No, that's not it."

"You're really not one to kiss and tell are you? Ok, ok, I concede. New subject." He put his hands up in mock surrender and took another sip of his drink. A more comfortable silence followed as they sat drinking before Arren spoke.

"My brother's best friend since childhood. He caught us together and...well it wasn't pretty." The first and only person Arren had ever been with, not that he was about to admit that to Ben. The man's next words sounded jesting, but his tone was more thoughtful.

"Ah, jealousy then. I bet she was stunning to have the eye of a king." Arren smiled, recalling bright blue eyes and a dazzling smile.

"Yeah, something like that."

Jubilant laughter drew the attention of them both back to the table where one of the men was chuckling and slapping Walter on the back. There appeared to be a few more discarded mugs on the table than there had been the last time Arren had looked over and both he and Ben shook their heads at the inebriated trio.

"Walter sure can handle his liquor." Ben paused, thinking back on Arren's earlier statement about Walter. "Did you ever see a troll? Before the king killed them all, that is."

"Yep, seen, fought and killed. Dad took me to the lake on my thirteenth birthday, before they started all that construction. We ran into a rock troll and he showed me how to find the weak points in its armor." He had also mentioned something at the center of the lake he had intended to show Arren when he was older. He needed to remember to look in his father's journal for answers about that.

"Impressive, I can't imagine what it must've been like to study under the Hero of Bowerstone."

"I can't either. We didn't get many times like that. He was a busy man, and never cut out to be a politician, he said as much many times." Neither am I, he refrained from adding.

"'I don't know a single thing about running a country or being a good king,' he'd say. 'The only thing I've ever known is how to be a good man. And a good man does what's right, no matter how much it hurts or what it costs.' Then he'd clap us on the shoulders and make some terrible joke about his regency. I used to find it inspiring when I was little, then just sickeningly noble as I grew older. Looking back on it though, I could see how much it hurt him to say it every time. I think he did it to punish himself, to remind himself of the decision he regretted most in his life." Arren shook himself and looked down, wondering just when he had finished the four empty mugs in front of him and half of the one in his hand. Great, humiliating rambling. He should probably leave before he made a bigger ass of himself.

"What was that?" Ben's question startled him and he looked at the soldier who seemed to be hanging on his every word and brimming with curiosity while cupping the sam mug he had been nursing for some time.

"He never told us. He never told anyone I suspect, and I never told him that I knew. I found him in his old study one night when I was about twelve. I couldn't sleep. I found him standing by the window. He had his back to me, but I could tell he was upset by the way his tense hunched posture as he scratched Whisper's head. 'All for a fucking dog,' he said. 'all for a stupid dog and a girl who died too young. I'm sorry Bob. I'm sorry Lil.'

"Every year on the same night he was like that, I later discovered, but that night after he left I found the letter he had set on his desk as he went. It was undated, but the page was yellowing with age, it was a letter from his sister. It wasn't until after his death just after my fourteenth birthday that I finally fit all the pieces together. I found a stack of correspondence between him and his closest friend, Hammer." Ben was literally on the edge of his stool with anticipation as Arren spoke, staring at him with an intensity that would have made Arren flustered under normal circumstances.

"I discovered that when the four heroes stood in the spire after Lucien's death, there was power enough in the spire for a single wish." Arren whispered, leaning in close. "He could have money, or he could bring back all of the innocents who had lost their minds and their lives in the spire's construction. But, because Rose and Whisper had died at Lucien's own hand, the wish would not save them, unless he forsook the countless, faceless dead of the spire, and chose love instead. And he did."

Arren bit his tongue so hard he almost drew blood as the last words left his mouth. He had gotten too caught up in his own tale to think before he spoke. He was appalled at himself for sharing this information. He had never told anyone this and never intended to. Yet here he was, telling someone he'd known only a month and could barely deem a friend his father's darkest secret. Nevermind his good judge of character and the fact that he was a little fixated on the man.

Ben blinked owlishly at him and Arren shoved his drink away, groaning, and let his head thump to the table. Aside from his own foolishness, he was pretty sure he had just ruined Ben's idol (as he had surmised from his manuscript) for him by casting a shadow in the flawless light Ben had likely imagined his father in.

He had officially put the last nail in the coffin that was his drinking problem that had developed over sleepless nights since Mourningwood when haunting dreams plagued him. He really needed to stop drinking.

"I shouldn't have said that," he mumbled, more to himself than Ben. The clap on the shoulder he received came out of nowhere.

"Hey, we all need a reality check once in a while. Besides, I promise, I won't breathe a word of it. Though you might want to think about laying off a bit," he gestured to the empty mugs, and Arren, who had tilted his head to look at Ben, gave him a sheepish look.

"Sorry."

"It happens. Though I suspect quite often in your case." Arren groaned pitifully.

"I really don't have a drinking problem. Well, only when I'm alone usually. And only recently." And by the light had he really just said that?! Shut your mouth Arren! "I really am less of an idiot most of the time." Where Ben and alcohol weren't involved of course. Ben just chuckled. "Honestly, Walter would vouch for me if he weren't busy being more drunk and less socially inept than me- and Skorms tongue I need to stop talking now." With that he buried his face in his arms.

"I've been around worse drunks, trust me. There was this one guy in Bloodstone, a retired sailor, bigger guy, anyway-" With that Ben gracefully plucked the conversation out of the muck Arren had steered it into and took it in a less shameful direction.

They shared drinking stories and talked for a while before Arren felt sober enough to really participate in the conversation without becoming a babbling idiot. He was very careful about his drinking after that and only drank some painfully sweet fruit concoction after that, but he still managed to stumble when the conversation waned and fatigue hit him like a punch in the gut and he stood to call it a night.

He stumbled over his own feet more out of sheer exhaustion than anything else. Right into Ben, who caught him with lightning fast reflexes that attested to his skill in battle.

He turned bright red as he realized his face was buried in Ben's chest and his hands gripped broad shoulders clad in rough fabric. Time seemed to freeze for a moment as he breathed in the scents of oil, gunpowder and the lingering scent of dew he associated with Mourningwood clinging to the man's uniform, underlined by Ben's own earthy scent.

Arren stepped back and turned around quickly with a mumbled thanks and willed his blush away as he made his way over to the other soldiers to say his goodbyes. Ben followed suit behind him and they interrupted whatever tale Walter was telling.

"Leaving already?" Walter's words words were still only slightly slurred and far more coherent than they had any right being considering how much he had been drinking.

"I've been here for hours."

"And sitting over there the whole time. Sit, drink, join in the revelry."

Arren sensed a losing battle of wills with Walter approaching. He was in no shape to deal with it, he was so tired he could barely stand. He hadn't realized just how bone weary he had been until he stood up. His fatigue felt like bags of sand around his neck trying to pull him to the floor. The last five hours had flown by in Ben's presence and he was more than ready to pay his tab, get a room and pass out.

Ben wasn't faring much better, but evidently he had more resolve than Arren did and Walter caved at his insistence. The three soldiers bid them goodnight, and Walter gave a harrumph.

"Cheer up, Walter, you can have me all to yourself tomorrow if you'd like. We could do something fun, like wander through hobbe infested tunnels again, or kill bandits. Maybe Ben will even come with." Despite his fatigue Arren couldn't resist the quip as he slipped away from the table with Ben on his heels.

He paid his and, despite much protest and a grumbled quip along the lines of 'who's sickeningly noble now', Ben's tabs. His streak of bad luck for the evening struck again once more, however, when he found out there were no rooms available.

He groaned, not relishing the thought of trekking through Brightwall or Driftwood to get to one of the only two properties he didn't rent out. He would probably stumble right off the bridge before he made it to his cabin. Ben chuckled smugly at this news and yanked his arm pulling him towards the stairs.

"One of them is mine, we can share." Ben kept a firm grip on his arm until they reached the stairs behind the bar and Arren stumbled along behind him trying to keep up.

"Who's the noble one now?" Ben glared back at him as he made his way up the stairs. Part of Arren wanted to make a joke about Ben wanting to get him into bed, but thankfully he had sobered up enough to keep his mouth shut.

They made it to the room and Arren realized what he should have before. There was only one bed in most of the rooms. When Ben collapsed on the large worn bed, Arren made to sit in the chair nearby.

"There's plenty of space for two people," Ben argued as he sat up. Arren grumbled and grudgingly made his way over and sat next to the soldier, yanking off his boots and tossing them to the floor with a clatter.

He found himself a moment later thanking his exhaustion as Ben did the same before standing to remove his jacket and the shirt underneath. Arren averted his gaze as his tired brain tried and failed to lure him into thoughts he should should not be having about his new friend. And certainly not around the man himself when he had yet to suffer through an awkward night of sleeping in the same bed with him.

Alcohol trumped his libido, and he was probably the first man to ever be thankful for that. He disregarded passing thoughts of modesty as well and shed his jacket and gloves, tossing them by his boots and laid down as close to the wall as he could manage without looking like he was doing it on purpose. Ben flopped down next to him, a good foot of space separating them and drew the old quilt over his legs.

Arren couldn't resist peeking out of the corner of his eyes at Ben, despite his chivalrous sensibilities insisting it was wrong, his logical mind argued he accept the view that was willingly, if unwittingly, offered. His eyes wandered once more over the dextrous fingers of the hand that rested on Ben's gently rising chest and and down to chiseled abs and surprisingly muscular arms.

As his gaze wandered upwards he saw Ben's tired blue gaze staring into space. Arren watched as his lids grew heavier and he eventually gave in to the pull of sleep without another word between them. Arren turned towards the wall and drifted off thinking, for once, not about his troubles and inner turmoil and the chaos of impending civil war, but about Ben's wild tales, his friendly casual demeanor and his charming smile.

_A large man covered in shining plate mail flew through the air and hit the ground with a thud and a clang as his helmet rolled off. Arren looked once more through the stranger's eyes, dark swirling ink covered half his youthful face and blond hair hung in his startlingly blue eyes as he looked at the man's reflection in his helm. Arren as usual could not control the man's movements, but simply watched and felt as the man pulled his gaze away from his reflection, which Arren was seeing for the first time._

_He hefted his greatsword once more and stood, sprinting towards the hulking man that had appeared again and again in Arren's disjointed dreams. This time though, the man's usually fragmented thoughts ran over his own like water as he delivered one last blow to their opponent and the man fell to his knees._

_'Finally, a chance to avenge my family.' The thought rang clear as a bell and it took Arren a moment to sort out that it was not his own. 'Goodbye Twinblade. May Avo reject you in the afterlife.' The venom in the thought struck Arren like a blow and he could not hear Twinblade's words over the mans thoughts. Poised to strike a fatal blow, the man stopped at the whisper of a feminine voice as the figure he had only ever glimpsed before approached._

_"There you are," said the blind woman as she approached. "What's wrong? Don't you recognize your own sister?"_

_'Theresa?!' Was the only dumbfounded thought that came after her following words of choices between darkness and light, secrets and arenas of blood. Shock and confusion wove through his muddled thoughts, but he could not be sure the emotions were entirely his own._

_"Before I leave, Brother, I have a present for you. For all the birthdays I've missed. A power that runs in our family."_

_The word 'birthday' brought some hazy broken half-thoughts to mind about teddy bears and chocolates and a smiling man. The pain hit then an Arren could feel the man's blood boiling as if it were his own. While the man let out a silent scream, his own echoed in his ears as he jerked awake with a shout._


End file.
